


Of the Forest, a Hero Dreams

by Arasia_Valentia



Series: An Ascian and His Hero [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Emet Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff with a side of angst, Massage, Morning After, Morning Sex, Multi Chapter, Other, Sadness, Second person POV, Sex, made me ugly cry, playful banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19816453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arasia_Valentia/pseuds/Arasia_Valentia
Summary: In Rak’tika, a Warrior of Light learns new things of life, love, and sorrow.





	1. Not Just Skin Laid Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emet offers you a massage, and things become more heated than you expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not crying, you’re crying.

Night had returned to the Rak’tika Greatwood. The stars twinkle through the thick canopy above your head as you make your way back to the Fanow. The azure flowers glow blindingly in the darker than night forest floor, a faithful guide to the weary party around you. Y’shtola was asleep on her feet, Urianger holding her up firmly by the arm. The trek out of the ancient temple proved harder than entering. The way ahead had been blocked by the destruction of the Light Wardens attacks, and the only option was to scale the waterfall you had so readily jumped from not minutes before. 

Needless to say, Minfilia had lost her strength hours ago, and Thancred was having a hard time carrying her on his back after such a long trek. But your destination was, after many long, hard hours, finally in sight. The Fanow gleamed and glowed in the deep darkness, fireflies flitting about and lighting up the night. Music could be heard from the Vii’s canopy bound home as you weave your way up and around huge tree limbs. As you reach the final step, Emet-Selch appears from the aether to study your wayward companions. You march up the steps, leaving them to speak with the spear wielding Vii, coming to stop next to the silent Ascian. You watch as your party converses with her, content to lean against the towering tree behind you and relax. 

“Tired warrior?” Emet questions, copying your stance against the tree. 

“Mmm,” you reply, noncommittally, cracking your neck. You stretch it side to side, hissing at the unbearable tightness. Emet raises an inquisitive brow at you. “That bad was it?”

You nod, raising your arms above your head in an elongated stretch. “The Light Warden was a Twelves damned dog,” you shake your head, continuing, “and a three headed one at that. It was like the World of Darkness all over again.”

Emet looks surprised a moment. “You’ve braved the 13th?” The others in your party move up the rest of the stairs nodding as they pass you, with weak smiles. Minfilia is fast asleep in Thancred’s arms, but it doesn’t stop him from silently snarling at Emet as he passes. The Ascian only smiles meanly, grinding out a lilting, “Down boy.”

If it weren’t for Minfilia, you’re almost certain he would have punched the slouching man. But, out of rational options, he merely frowns angrily, rushing past you and down another flight of stairs to the next platform. Emet smirks and shrugs theatrically as you shoot him a withering glare. The staff wielding Vii, unfortunately her name has slipped your mind in your current state, moves to approach you, and motions for you to follow her. You heave yourself upright and off the tree, your silent companion trailing along beside you.

“To answer your question,” you say, weaving your way through bunches of celebrating people, “I did go a very long time ago, during my first investigations of the Tower.”

“I see, and, what was it like? I have not been in many years.”

You shudder to think of it. “Filled with all manner of horrid things, a giant eyeball bat, an elemental hydra, a three headed dog, and a very angry green woman who ate storm clouds.”

“How interesting,” Emet says, pondering your words as you come to a halt before a curtained off building.

“This,” says the Vii, “is where you shall stay tonight.” She motions to you and Emet. 

“Wait,” you say, confusion clouding your thoughts, “ both of us?” 

The Vii cocks her head at you. “Are you not companions? I was under the impression…” She trails of obviously confused. “The others have settled in and well, it would be rude to awaken them…” You cut her off with a sigh.

“This will do,” you grumble, sensing the man beside you bathing in satisfaction. You hurriedly duck past the cloth. You curse under your breath as you behold the room. A curtained off privy, two tables, two chairs, and a decent sized bed. One bed. 

Emet saunters in behind you, the smirk on his face extremely loud. You could feel it prickling against your neck. “How…” he pauses for the word, “quaint.”

You groan and collapse into the nearest chair, burying your face in your hands. “Do us both a favor and disperse into the shadows would you?”

He laughs at you. “And miss all this fun? Tsk, I think not warrior.”

He sits across from you, studying you intently. You smash your face into your arms, the table making a dull thud under the weight. “That’s not good for your health,” Emet points out.

“Maybe if I knock myself out I won’t have to deal with,” you motion to him and the room, “any of this.”

Emet hums to himself, thinking hard, before he comments. “It’s not that bad.”

You glare at him hotly. He raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, we will go with kind of bad.”

You smash your face into your arms again and he winces. 

“How about this hero. You will owe me something at a later date, a favor, and in return I will “disperse to the shadows” as you say, after giving you a massage.”

“I-I’m sorry, a what?” You sputter out.

“Oh come now my dear, surely a massage is not a foreign concept to you?” Emet rolls his eyes.

“No, but from you? An Ascian, of all people?”

He shrugs. “You seem to be in pain and I am in a helping mood.”

You eye him sidelong.

“I’ve been told I’m good with my hands,” he says, eyes twinkling with mischief, “or, was it my fingers were magic? Oh, I can never remember.”

You choke in surprise, face heating up, blood rushing loudly through your ears. Emet gives you a challenging stare. You huff. You won’t lose to the likes of him. “Fine,” you say, stripping out of your outermost layers as you stand from the chair. You discard piece after piece of clothing before you flop onto the bed in just your small clothes. “Well?”

Emet stands, removing his gloves with immaculate teeth, tossing them down on the table. He shrugs of his large overcoat, and top most shirt, laying them gently over the side of the chair. Next are his shoes, shucking them off to sit under his chair. Now, in all but breeches and a loose, long sleeved tunic, he prowls toward you. A bottle of what you assume is lotion, pops forth from the air landing in his outstretched palm. “Show off,” you mutter, flipping to lay on your stomach. You’re pretty sure you can feel him smiling again, the bastard. After a moment, the bed dips by your hip as Emet swings his leg over your hips. His weight settles down right below your buttocks, resting firmly, but gently on your thighs. 

“So, Warrior, where is your pain,” Emet asks, smooth and gentle, quiet even. 

His tone catches you by surprise. You thought he would be his condescending self but, well, it seems he is going to be serious. “Shoulders,” you reply.

You hear the click of a bottle cap, the smell of lilac and mint wafting to your nose, firm hands gently settling on your back. You shiver at the cold touch of the lotion, but it slowly warms as Emet’s hands move, pressing and exploring softly. For a moment he just feels, locating the source of your pain. Then he begins in earnest, starting at your shoulders. His fingers glide and knead, working out all of the knots in your back, moving under your shoulder blades and down to your upper hips. He digs his elbow into a rather stubborn spot and you are unable to stifle your moans. 

“Careful warrior, make noises like that and I might get ideas,” Emet says, working his way down your arms and to your hands. You can hear his breath coming a little quicker, and decide you might as well go all out. This dance of seduction was over, and you were determined to win. You let out a little gasp and a small groan, pressing your backside a little closer to his crotch. He grabs your wrist tightly, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “You play a dangerous game my dear,” he purrs, hot breath caressing your neck. His voice is like molten silk, causing heat to pool in your stomach. “Are you certain you want to do this?” 

You turn, his hips moving to accommodate your rotating body. He lets go of your wrist as you move, holding his hands inches off your flesh, the lotion glistening on his bared fingers. He looks at you with a dark stare, gold eyes hooded. A flush is slowly creeping up his neck from under the collar of his shirt. The cool air kisses your skin as you look at him, watching as his restraint slowly crumbles away. 

“Touch me,” you command. 

His hands are in your hair suddenly, pulling, tugging, licking his way deftly into your mouth. He swallows up your gasp of surprise, pressing you into the bed with his hips. Your hands grab his back, bunching into the thin fabric that separates his skin from your touch. He kisses you with reckless abandon, eyes shut, teeth clacking violently against your own. You meet him with the same fiery fervor, hands scraping on the exposed skin of his neck. He catches your lip in his teeth, biting down hard. Blood wells up, and you swear, tugging his clothes as he licks the blood from your mouth. His hands are wound up in your locks, pulling tight enough to bring tears to the eyes. You break away from the kiss, bumping his forehead with yours.

“Off,” you pant, tugging his shirt, “I’m feeling at a disadvantage.”

He moves off you, sitting up to pull the shirt over head. He tosses it on the floor, pulling himself to his full height. Suddenly, the air stands still for a moment, Emet looking at you looking at him. You reach out tentatively, unsure why suddenly you are so uncertain. Your fingers caress his chest, feeling the slight firmness of his pecs. Soft hair dusts the space above his navel, tapering down into the top of his pants. He sits stock still, like a statue, golden irises watching you intently. You flatten your palm to his stomach, feeling his abs twitch and flutter beneath the surface of his porcelain skin. He is not like most warriors you’ve been with, all muscle and scars. No, he is firm, soft, but possessing a lean strength. 

You sit up, eyes trained on his as you bring your mouth to rest on his collarbone. You bite softly, teeth barely grazing the skin. He inhales sharply through his nose, one of his hands rests itself in the small of your back, but does nothing else. You kiss, soft and light, feathery touches on his skin up his neck, along his jaw, and finally to his mouth. Your noses touch, breath mingling in the scant inches that separate you. His eyes are so close, and they are so terribly lonely. For one moment, you look at him differently, and have the horrible feeling that Emet might just break. So you kiss him. You kiss him and kiss him, drinking down that pain, that sorrow, and he gives it all to you willingly, drowning you in his lonesome existence. Your arms wind around his neck as he pulls you into his lap, hips rolling softly against yours. 

And that is how you stay, quiet and soft in your lovemaking. His hands roam your skin in soft exploration, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your hips rut against his in a steady rhythm. He bends down his head, taking a hardened nipple in his mouth, biting it lightly, tongue flicking over its perky surface. You gasp arching up, hips coming down hard. He repeats the motion with the other, a hand kneading at the swell of your backside. You tilt your head aside and relish the feeling. Emet buries his face in your neck, pulling you flush against his chest, picking up the pace. You keen, one hand scratching down his back, the other resting on his neck. His pants are loud in your ear, the small, raw grunts sending lighting down your spine, building heavy pressure in your abdomen. It doesn’t take long, Emet biting your shoulder, shuddering silently as he goes over the edge, orgasming in silence as you come moments later. You rest your head on his, sweaty and spent. You stay that way a moment, listening to your pulse thundering in your ears, hand lazily dancing patterns into Emet’s back. 

After a while, he gathers you in his arms, flopping down on his side, arms tight around your waist. Thus you lay, following the rise and fall of his chest, the soft sound of leaves rustling outside the door flap. You doze off quietly after a while, rousing only when you feel the man behind you move to get up. Your hand shoots out, grabbing onto his wrist. Emet looks down at you, lips kiss bruised, and hair wild with sweat. You smile lazily. He cocks an eyebrow. You giggle.

“What?” He asks, clearly exasperated.

“You have terrible sex hair.”

He looks slightly offended a moment before he tugs on your own wild locks. “Says you.”

His smile fades as he watches you, eyes guarded. There it is again, the timeless look of solitude. He moves to stand, and you tug him back down. “Stay.” 

You say it so softly you don’t know if he’s heard, eyes downcast and shy. But he does, and you feel him settle down on the mattress, yet he moves no further. You look up at him. “Please stay.” You watch him ponder, a thousand and one thoughts flitting through his mind. And then his eyes soften, a lazy smile quirking the corner of his lips. He moves to lay down, and you scoot over, twining your legs with his. An arm wraps around your waist, his nose buried in your hair as he breathes in. “Goodnight, hero,” he whispers, the last thing you hear as the steady beat of his heart lulls you to sleep.


	2. Morning after Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After you spend the night with Emet-Selch morning comes to the Greatwood, and with it a few surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OwO
> 
> *Domestic Emet with a tingle of angst*

Light filters through an open window set high in the wall, painting the room in warm yellow hues and toasty browns. It chases back the shadows, forcing them to tremble in the far reaches of the room; birds singing sweet melodies of freedom in your ears as the morning surfacing from the shackles of night. The sun shines on your face, wrestling you free from the warm embrace of sleep. Slowly, you open your eyes, a gentle breeze swirling through the trees above the Fanow; a melody of rustling leaves cascading over the light din of the wood. You sigh, stretching out your limbs, toes curling at the rays of light falling on your skin. The bed beside you shifts, a body, solid and warm, burying half their face into a pillow. You move, resting on your side to watch the man beside you. 

The morning wind ruffles his hair, the dark brown strands lapping at the edges of his sharp jaw. His face is slack, relaxed even, and he looks younger for it. The sheets pool around his waist, leaving dappled sunlight to paint intricate patterns on his bare back. Lean muscles roll the horizon of his flesh, and they shift as he twitches slightly in his sleep. The stone set in his forehead shines in the sun, and you find yourself brushing the hair out of his face. He stirs slightly, pressing his cheek into the palm of your outstretched hand, but he does not awaken. You gently stroke the proffered skin, before slipping out of the covers and off the foot of the bed. You ponder the man as you don your tunic from the previous night. What drove him, you wonder, to share your bed? His lonely, sorrowful eyes flash across your memories. What caused him so much pain? 

At first, the night before had been a whim, but suddenly it changed as he towered before you, exposed, his eyes full of vulnerability. Never had you seen the man such; why had he not hidden himself in that moment? You quietly pad to the door, pushing back the flap as you step into the light of day. It is still early, dawning birdsongs echoing through the air. You wave down a passing Vii, requesting that a small platter be brought to break your fast. They nod excitedly, pleased to do anything for the savior of the night. You grimace at the title, but thank them as they scurry off to the already bustling mess hall. 

The door flap falls back into place as you duck into the small hut once more. Emet-Selch has not moved since you first awoke, and you wonder if you should rouse him. The man seemed like he needed sleep, dark bags ever present. But, with his proclamation of loving sleep, perhaps it was due to too much. You walk over to the bed, footfalls silent on the wood floor. The bed dips slightly were you sit, a hand reaching out to draw small shapes into the Ascian’s exposed back. The man gives a grumble as you run your fingers along his spine, turning to face you with bleary eyes. He takes one look at you, then the window, and pouts hard.

“Must you wake at the crack of dawn hero? That’s all well and good if you do, but must you awaken me?”

The Vii from earlier moves into the room, carrying a tray. She sets it down, bowing to you from the doorway before exiting. Her gaze lingers on the sleep addled man in the bed as she leaves. Emet eyes the steaming plates. “You… requested breakfast. How domestic of you.” You raise an eyebrow at him as he rolls on his stomach again, burying his face into the down. 

You move to lay down next to him, slipping back under the covers. He turns his head and cracks an eye at you. “You know she will talk.”

“Yes,” you say.

“And you’re not concerned?” 

“About, what? How the monstrous villain seduced the innocent hero into their own bed?” you say.

The Ascian flips onto his back, giving a long stretch. “Monstrous?” He questions.

He rolls over, his body loosely resting over yours. “I would have chosen the word, oh, handsome, or even dashing even. Wouldn’t you?” The grin on his face is insufferable. 

You flash him a mean smile, “No, I don’t see anything of the like.”

Emet gives a mock sneer, moving so your noses almost touch. “Are you sure,” he says, breath puffing across your face,”that a closer look wouldn’t tell you anything?”

His eyes are so very gold you realize. Like liquid whorls roiling in his irises. Sparkling with little flecks of brown. His lashes flutter against his porcelain skin with every blink, long and impossibly black. Gorgeous, beautiful, sad, lonely, all are words that come to mind. But you don’t speak them, instead closing the distance between your mouths. You do not speak them, but you know he hears them anyway. Emet makes a small noise in the back of his throat, a sound you aren’t quite sure the meaning of. He sinks onto you, bare chest rubbing on your tunic. His elbows come to rest beside your head, mouth moving slowly against yours, basking in the warmth of your tongue. 

Long minutes pass like this, one kiss, two kisses, three, on and on, until you must break apart for breath. You feel light, like you’re flying through the skies of Il Mheg, bubbles of equal parts joy and butterflies rolling in your gut. Emet’s cheeks are alight warmth, and you feel your own pulse booming thunderously through your veins. You’re pleased to find no sadness swimming in his eyes, just simple contentment, as he looks at you. The Ascian shifts with a sly grin, his hips pressing against your leg, heavy with his arousal. You feel blood rush to your head in a wave of heady embarrassment, or was it excitement? 

“You know,” you whisper, afraid that if you speak, the moment will be broken,” for an old man you don’t seem to have much trouble.”

Emet huffs out a laugh, grinding down softly on your thigh. He noses his way to your ear biting softly on the tender flesh. You gasp, body arching into his as he trails wet kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone. He reaches your chest and moves so he is sitting on your hips, freeing his arms to untie your tunic. When he reaches the last lace he looks up at you with inquisitive eyes. 

“Are you sure about this Warrior?” he asks.

“You’re asking? How courteous of you.”

His anger flares openly for a moment, a frown twisting his features. “I may be an Ascian, but that doesn’t mean I’m inconsiderate,” he tilts his head, eyes blazing, “ I’m still a man.” “Did you forget I asked last night as well? Do not presume to know my nature,” he adds softly, resting his head on your collarbone. 

Suddenly you feel embarrassed, shame chasing close on its heels. You never really thought of that, admittedly. Ascians always seemed so unreal, scary, like a monster. The same could be said of you. Larger than life, with mysterious powers normal people do not possess. Regardless about how you feel about him and his, you realize that was a bit much. Especially with what you saw in the shadows of the previous night.

“I- That wasn’t…. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry,” you fumble out. “I.. Yes, I’m positive I want this.”

“Good,” he says, raising his head to smirk, helping you out of your tunic. He doesn’t seem angry at your blunder, and the fabric slips off your flesh, haphazardly tossed onto the floor. His mouth descends on your sunlight spattered flesh, nipping at the skin. Your hands thread through his hair, stroking the strands as he licks a wet trail down your abdomen. His hand brushes over a nipple as he nips at your hip bone, causing you to gasp; twinges of lighting shooting down your spine. You didn’t bother to don underwear when you got up, the tunic long enough to cover to your knees. Emet-Selch takes great pleasure in this revelation, laving his tongue down, down, before he stops right above your aching arousal. He looks up at you, eyes dark and heavy lidded. His hair is mussed from your hands, neck glowing crimson red, kiss bruised and gorgeous. The sight sends blood rushing to your lower extremities. If he notices- albeit you’re certain he did, if the smirk that appears is anything- he doesn’t let on, slowly, oh so slowly, lowering his head down. His eyes don’t leave yours.

Then he licks at your arousal, and you jolt, crying out at the sensation. By the Twelve, this man would kill you right here. His hands stroke your thighs, as he kitten licks, soft and teasing. Your legs shake with the feelings, and you throw back your head. You whimper, begging, pleading, but he simply watches, ignoring your pleas as he continues the tortuous pace. You stuff your fist in your mouth as the tension rises in your stomach. He stops at this and you whine, giving him a hard look. Emet’s hand pulls your fist out of your mouth, twining your fingers with his. 

“I want to hear you,” he says, “scream for me.”

Your face feels hot as a flame, your entire body flooding with heat. You nod, those words sending a flood of butterflies through your body. And then he takes your arousal in his teeth, scraping it lightly. You cry out. He sucks hard, and then licks full tongued. You squeeze his hand, and quiver head to toe. He repeats each action, slowly, deliberately, as if he thought of this very moment for hours. You won’t last long at this rate, and by the Twelve, you don’t mind if you can’t. You let out an embarrassing whimper, high pitched an unmistakable. Emet senses your finish, replacing his tongue with his other hand, deftly moving over your arousal. 

He mouths hotly against your inner thigh, biting down. “Come for me,” he whispers across the saliva slicked flesh. And you do, full body, his name a chant on your lips. You arch off the bed, convulsing as his hand leads you through your release. You shake through the aftershocks, arms and legs quivering. Emet lays his head against your thigh, stroking your stomach as you come down from your high, warm and lazy. You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs to their capacity. 

“By the Twelve,” you mutter.

Emet chuckles, crawling up your body to kiss you lazily. You let him, slow and sensual, and nothing like the man you’ve come to know. After a beat you shift, brushing up against his own arousal, still heavy in his smallclothes. Emet hisses at the friction, bowing his head as you reach down to pull at the hem of the garment. He stands, slipping them off his thighs and onto the ground. He stands there for a moment, the tip of his member bobbing against the V of his hips. You admire him as he crawls back into bed, lean and pale, settling himself between your outstretched legs. His length presses against you, probing light against your heated flesh. Suddenly you’re very nervous, and not sure how you got to this moment. Emet’s eyes explore yours, the silent question on his face loud in your mind. Swallowing thickly you nod for him to go. 

Slowly, he fills you, deep and full, settling in as you breath heavily, nostrils flaring at the twinges of pain. He leans over you, third eye pressing into your flesh as he rests his forehead on yours. He gives an experimental roll of his hips and you hiss, still adjusting to his length. Emet shushes you, nuzzling his face into your neck as you breath, running his hands up and down your now sweat slicked sides. He moves his hips slowly, trying to acclimate you to the feel. 

At first, it hurts, not blindingly so, but a dull ache in your hips. But steadily pleasure builds, wiping away the pain, and you writhe, pressing your hips into his. His breath hitches when you wrap your legs around his back, nails scraping on his neck, hips stuttering forward, piercing deep into your canal. You cry out, wrapping your arms fully around his torso. Emet rocks his hips at your sound of approval and you gasp. 

“Emet,” you say, hips grinding down, “for the love of the Twelve, fuck me.”

The Ascian growls, pulling all the way out and slamming back in, causing stars to dance across your vision. He pumps his hips tortuously slow, but with a force that leaves your mind reeling. Your back slips on the bed, sweat slicked, scratching against the cotton sheets. Emet suddenly pulls you up and into his lap, blunt fingernails ripping down your spine. You groan, knowing you’ll have scrapes come later, but the sting of your flesh is lost in the waves of ecstasy filling your mind. You throw your head back, keening with clenched fists. You yank his hair as he takes a hard nipple in his mouth, biting down. Pain shoots down your body, pooling low in your belly. He repeats the motion with the other, and you groan, hips moving down to meet every trust.

“Faster,” you pant. Emet obliges, driving into you swiftly. You pitch forward, hands resting on Emet’s shoulders as he angles his hips, throbbing member slamming deep into your core. Your back arches against empty air, hands fisting in his hair as he fucks you, quiet sounds slipping from his mouth. His hands support your legs, kneading the flesh with such ferocity you dimly note you’ll have bruises for days to come. You yank on his hair with a cry as he aims for your sweet spot, your core trembling as he hits it again and again. And then you’re over the edge, spasming as you grip him tight, a pitiful whine coming from your throat as you bury your face in his hair. His thrusts become sloppy as you tighten around him, and he comes with a feral snarl, biting down on your neck, right next to the spot from last night. You jerk, hissing as blood runs down your chest. 

Emet grows still at last, and you tremble as he pulls out, lowering you down on the bed. He pulls you into his chest as you lay there, trying to calm your laboring breath. You pet his skin as he rests his chin on your head, silent. His hand runs down your neck, and you jerk, yelping in pain. He pulls away, looking at your swollen flesh in slight alarm. Your neck bleeds, bruised and purple, a ring of teeth marking your skin.

“Apologies,” he says, wiping at it with the sheets, “it was not my intent to harm you.”

The bite throbs, but not terribly so, as he snaps his fingers, cleaning the wound and you in the process. Your smallclothes are magicked off the floor and onto your body it one moment. Then he places his cupped hand over your injury. “Shall I get rid of it?” he questions.

You ponder it for a moment. On one hand, it hurt, and everyone would certainly know, if your screams didn’t already announce it to the whole Fanow. On the other, the thought of wearing his make openly sent blood singing through your body, and rest on your face. Emet-Selch watches as your thought process comes to an end, with a shake of your head. “Leave it,” you say.

The Ascians eyebrows shoot to the heavens. “For all to see?” 

“Let them see, I care not for their thoughts of my private affairs. Let them see me claimed.”

Emet grins filthily, “Who knew the Warrior of Light was such a minx. The poor Exarch will be beside himself when he gazes in on this.”

You choke, spluttering at the mere thought. Emet laughs evilly, swinging his legs off the bed.

“That being said,” the man proffers, “you must be aware this changes nothing outside private walls.”

Against you behest, and greatest internal protests, your heart drops into your stomach at the words. Your feelings must show, because Emet’s eyes soften, and he reaches to cup your chin. 

“I cannot promise this will change the end goal here. For either of us.”

He kisses you softly, chaste and fleeting.. He moves to the table, eyeing the food platter. “Know that if you call on me, for speech or to share your bed, I’ll answer. Outside that, I can promise nothing.”

He sits in one of the chairs, motioning for you to join him. “Come Warrior, let us eat. And don’t you dare begin to sulk I can feel it from here.”

His snark wipes the frown from your face, and you stand, walking to join him at the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided this needed another chapter. I’ve been struggling what to write next, and nothing worked character development wise. But this should add a little bit of that. 
> 
> Hope you like, because I do. :>


	3. Luminescence of a Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second Rak’tikan night is upon you, and Emet offers to show you wonders no one has seen. But things do not end as you planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHA *cries* 
> 
> ARE YOU READY FOR ANGST, CUZ IM NOT!
> 
> If you want to see what the cave kind of looked like watch this. 
> 
> https://youtu.be/AlLKjKgV5So
> 
> Or some good ass strange magic moments
> 
> https://youtu.be/_dp97JMRCTY

Shadows twist and turn in the opaque moonlight, dancing across the forest floor. The wind lazily blows through the trees, evergreen leaves singing in rustling tones of softness. The Fanow is quiet below your treetop perch, the torches and fire dimmed as night comes in earnest. Most below you are asleep, a chirping lullaby of dusk birds and cicadas lulling them into oblivion. But not you. You watch the sky, enjoying the coolness of the second Rak’tikan night. A small break in the canopy of leaves offers a serene picture of the night sky. The stars twinkle and shine, and you wonder, how many are there? It’s a vast, vast expanse, and before you came to this world, a world where light touches and taints everything, you never truly reveled in its dim glow. A smile touches your lips as you watch a star shoot across the horizon, lightning fast and bright.

“Will you wish on it?” A soft voice asks.

You startle, head whipping down to find Emet-Selch studying you curiously. He stands against the backdrop of the dim light below, haloing his body in an orange hue. “Perhaps,” you respond. Emet saunters forward, leaning against the trunk in the empty spot next to your seated body. “You’re not certain?” he inquires.

“Even if I did wish, I’m not certain what I would wish for,” you muse, tilting your face up to him. “What of you?”

He scoffs, “Hero, I’ve wished on a thousand stars in my life, not one has come true.”

“None?”

His eyes gain a faraway look. “Just the first.”

You long to ask, but you decide to refrain. Emet-Selch is a man, an Ascian, shrouded in as many mysteries as you. He covered himself in as many personas as an assassin, and his true face rarely ever surfaced. Thus you give a small sound in response, and let the line of speech drop. You’re both quiet after that, you watching the stars, him watching as the moon paints pale rays of dappled light on your face through the trees. You close your eyes, listening to the sounds of the night. A bat flaps about, wings beating almost too quiet to hear as it flies in search of a meal. Owls hoot in haunting melodies, the sound echoing about the forest tops. A mouse scurries about, and a frog croaks loudly in its belly. Emet makes not a sound as you enjoy the melody of the night, the soft puffs of his breathing the only thing to betray his presence. In and out, you match your breaths with his, counting the moments between each intake and exhalation. You’ve not realized you’ve fallen asleep until a hand shakes you from your slumber.

“Best not to sleep here, hero. Unless, of course, you _wanted_ to plunge to your death,” Emet says as he rouses you. “If that was your goal, then by all means.” He gestures to the side of the branch you perch upon. You blink at him blearily as he helps you to your feet, trying your best for an angry pout, but failing miserably if his amused smile is anything to go by. “How long..” you begin to mumble.

“Not long,” he promises, steadying you with his arm as you sway. The moon hangs high in the sky, full and bright, lighting up the treetops like a sunny day. “Come,” Emet says, “Let's get you to bed before you somehow toss yourself to your doom. I would sorely miss you thwarting every plot I so painstakingly scheme. Truthfully, your tendencies to ruin my plans could be called legendary, if it wasn't so grating.”

“Thanks,” you respond with a yawn, “I can see you only have my best interests at heart.”

“Just so,” he proclaims, “no ill intentions, whatsoever.”

You just give him a disapproving stare, and he raises his arms in a flourishing shrug. You walk with him, one hand on his arm as he leads you off the large branch. You wind your way back to the Fanow, head turning to take in the night scenery. Fireflies flit about, mirroring the sky like twinkling starlight. All manner of fauna glow, in all manner of colors. Azure, lavender, and a gorgeous gold. You stop in your tracks, running a finger along the petals of a flower that emits a neon pink light.

Emet-Selch sighs. “Warrior, you’re as bad as a child. Have you never heard the phrase look but do not touch?”

“But, it’s beautiful,” you say, pulling your hand from his arm to cup the flower in your palms.

“Yes, and probably poisonous. If you keel over because you can’t keep your hands to yourself, let it not be said I didn’t warn you,” the man huffs.

You bend to smell the flower. You’re surprised to find it smells like fresh fruit, newly cut for a picnic on a hot summer day. Sweet and citrusy the smell envelopes your senses. You step back, looking at Emet-Selch as he taps an impatient foot on the ground. “It’s very nice,” you say to him.

“Yes I’m sure it’ll be nice when it asphyxiates you.”

You look at him sidelong. He rubs the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I’ve seen better hero, or did you forget I’m lifetimes old?”

“Yes, you never cease to tell me you have one foot in the grave.”

“And you’re barely out of the womb. What of it?” He retorts back.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with that last night, or this morning, actually. A cradle robber you are,” you tease.

“Perish the thought,” Emet exclaims, “Your friends already seem scandalized at the thought of me sharing your bed, imagine if you pointed that detail out.” He tilts his head impishly, “Thancred would behead me.”

You scoff, “As if he would get close without you dramatically proofing away. I bet you’d villain laugh to boot, just to get on his nerves.”

“Hmm, yes, that seems likely.”

Emet’s smile drops after a beat, and he studies you intently. You watch him, his eyes deep in thought. For a few moments he ponders, one hand on his chin, the other on his hip. Your banter never ceased it seemed, but the moments it dropped Emet always looked at you like you were some impossible creature. Sometimes his eyes betrayed him, curiosity and something you cannot place, swimming in their depths. Others, it was polite interest, or a bland dismissal. Now, is one of the former moments.

“Would you like to see something? Something that no one else in this world has seen?” he asks you.

It’s not often the Ascian deigns to show you things, or reveal anything for that matter. Be it answers or his own emotions. He outstretches a hand, portal of darkness springing into being behind him. Tentatively you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his. He pulls you, wrapping you into a tight embrace. He smells of musk, and strangely, of darkness. Like the air in the dead of night, or the damp in an ancient cave. “Hold tight,” he says, falling back into the portal.

Your senses are suddenly engulfed, dark strands of aether running past your face. You feel the power, rushing over your limbs, through your hair, singing into your blood. Purple, blue, black, dark colors rush past, like you’re flying in a nighttime sky. Emet slips away, and you become lost. You don’t see, you don’t feel, you don’t hear. You simply float across the sea of darkness, body dissipating into the aether around you.

And then you’re on a stone covered ground, the world bursting into a cacophony of color and sound. You gasp, air flooding your lungs. Hands cup your face, and you squint at the blurry shapes in front of you. A soft voice calls you to, faded, but sharpening ever so slowly as your body acclimates to your surroundings.

“H…o… He...ro…..”

You groan, trying to sit up. A hand moves to your chest, keeping you down as the other checks your pulse. They are gloved, silken soft. The voice sharpens in glaring clarity.

“Hero, I told you to hold on. Traversing space outside an aetheryte path is rather hard on the mortal body,” Emet says to you.

You groan at him, throwing an arm over your eyes. Your head is pounding, and you hurt all over. What in the Twelve just happened? You don’t realize you’ve said that out loud until Emet responds. “Your soul frays, in that space between worlds, if you are unlike me. A vessel, an Ascian, something not quite mortal.”

You mumble an incoherent complaint and Emet huffs a laugh. “It will pass, come, get up. There is much to see.” Slowly you sit up, eyes adjusting to the light around you, or lack thereof. The landscape is unfamiliar to you.

“Where are we?” you question.

“Deep beneath the ground of the Greatwood,” he answers, “in a system of caves no mortal has ever seen.”

You look around you, taking in the space you stand in. Indeed, all that surrounds you is rock and dirt. A soft, bluish glow paints everything in deep shadow. If you are underground, how is there light? You look at Emet confused. The Ascian smirks and simply points up. You follow his finger and gasp. Thousands of tiny luminescent strings hang from the ceiling, like crystal starlight, glowing in shades deep azure, turquoise, and baby blue.They curtain the cave, like pearl droplets dazzling the skirts of a noblewoman's dress. Tiny spatterings of bioluminescent algae paints the walls, drawing your vision down and to a great wide lake, still, and unmoving. It hovers like glass, reflecting the glorious colors back like a mirror.

Emet stands silent beside you, eyes roving your face as you take in all of the caves splendor. “By the Twelve,” you whisper, afraid to shatter the stillness. “What are they?” You reach up, drawing a finger along a strand. Crystal clear it hums through the cave, a high pitched note of beauty. Some of the lights go dim, but then flicker back into brightness as the note fades.

“Some are bioluminescent worms,” Emet says, stepping behind you. A hand curls around you waist, the other caressing the strand of crystal in front of you.  
“Others,” he says, a tinkling tune like wind chimes flowing from his fingers on the different drops,” I am not sure admittedly, but they produce sounds.”

Most of the strands are out of reach, high in the cavernous ceiling. “I want to touch them,” you whisper. Emet moves his mouth to your ear, equally quiet. “Then hold on.” You press yourself back into his chest, holding the arm that wraps around your midsection. Then suddenly you are in the air, standing on nothingness as you ascend to be surrounded by the glow. Emet puts you down, and you gasp, feet hitting solid air. “How?”

Emet cuts you off with a flourish,” Trade secret my dear. Nonetheless here you are.”

You turn, running your hands along the hanging strings, reveling in the tones of hums they create, the sound reverberating on the stone walls. Your fingers hit some of the worms too and they curl up, and come down, undulating to the haunting melody as if entranced. Emet tries to touch a few, perhaps to create music of his own, but they curl up angrily, and his sneers at them, face dropping into a sullen pout. You laugh at him, the swinging lights painting him in fractured light. His eyes, ever so gold, are filled with mirth, despite the pout on his lips. You watch as the strings come to a halt, casting deep shadows on his face. His regal clothes gleam, adornments and medals shining brighter than the sun, his hair haloed in the soft glow. You look at him.

The soft tilt of his mouth. The strands of hair tickling his jaw, third eye glowing wildly in the dark. And his eyes, deep dark pools, that you could dive into, endless and bottomless with a split second of raw emotion. Tall and lean, strong, but gentle. Silken clad hands that, indeed, make you shiver. Ethereal, unreal, an anomaly to your senses.

“What?” he asks you quietly, taking a step toward you, and then another, until there is barely space between you at all. He is warm and solid before you, but you do not touch him, content to look. The glow of the cave sharpens him a thousand times over, and your previous thoughts from the night before come rushing back. Lonesome, lovely, gorgeous, tragic.

“Hero?” He asks.

Words slip out before you realize you’ve said them.

“You’re beautiful, you know?”

Time moves slowly, as Emet’s eyes widen, surprise flitting across his golden irises. His hand touches your cheek, and you lean into it, eyes never leaving his. He flinches at your reaction, snatching his hand away; suddenly he looks stricken, pain clouding his eyes until he stumbles back from you, face closing down into a mask of distant disinterest.

“It’s time we leave, I think,” he says, voice low, and guttural.

You’ve made a horrible mistake, you realize, as he hauls you into a portal, haphazardly dumping you in your room at the Fanow. You hit the wooden floor unceremoniously on your backside, letting out a small noise at the impact. Emet turns, walking into the portal, almost through before you lunge after him from your place on the ground.

“Emet-Selch, wait!” you shout after him.

He looks at you over his shoulder, eyes cold. A deep frown graces his face, and his mask flares to life. You gasp, jerking back. The Ascian turns, and walks away; leaving you to wonder at the place he last occupied. You whisper his name, but he does not return.

_**“Know that if you call on me, for speech or to share your bed, I’ll answer. Outside that, I can promise nothing.”** _

“You lied,” you whisper to the shadows.

No one responds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It hurt to write this but I also fangirled super hard because this character development is so good.
> 
> I may do one more Rak’tikan fanfic before moving on to Aehm Areng or whatever, but we will see.


	4. Fire Bright, Aetheric Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What? I’m alive? Nonsense. Also it was supposed to be sexy, but like I have so many feels. Also it sucks because I’ve been mulling over this chapter for like 2 months. Enjoy anyway! *screeee*
> 
> Also who needs beta?! Take my typos, and enjoy them >:D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will mention I’ll be adding the rest of the series here, and the current Title will be changed. Once I have another chapter that is.

A fire rages and roars, rising high into the sky as the blue of day bleeds into nightfall, the purple of dusk streaking the sky in indigo stains. Rolling clouds dot the sky, glowing softly in shades of pastel pink, painting the horizon like a gently hewn canvas. A breeze rustles your hair, swirling through the air in a lilting melody of whispering gusts. You watch, leaning against the base of the Aetheryte in Slitherbough, as the Night’s Blessed bustle around frantically. Dust is stirred up from the packed and dry paths, people milling about the clearing. Cotton fabric and silk ribbons of all shades of purple and blue hang over your head from ashen rope. The earthy breeze swirls about you in a mini tornado of leaves. It brings the smell of the campfire, aromas of cooking meat and drying leather; the scent of decadent stew and carved vegetables. You push yourself off your support, weaving through the crowd to approach the doors to your temporary residence.

Despite Y’shtola’s many protests, you’ve been invited to participate in a worshiping ceremony of the night sky. A celebration of not only the sunless sea, but the hero who brought it into being once more. The wooden doors swing wide as your push through them, walking into the cave bound room. Runar hums to himself happily as he readies the room for your use, cleaning with a vigor you could not hope to replicate. A sandalwood burner rests in the corner, rich smelling incense wafting about the room. Runar turns at the sound of your soft footsteps, beaming as he holds up a robe for you to see.

“I’ve found a ceremonial robe for you to wear tonight!” He announces, proudly displaying the cloth. Your eyes widen, taken aback a moment before you speak.

“I’m sorry, you want me to wear that?” you say to the big cat.

“Oh course,” he says, “if you wish to participate in the celebration of the Night Sky’s return!”

“I don’t see why I can’t wear what I have on, and not, well, that.”

Runar holds up the robes of the Night’s Blessed. The skirt was fine, but Twelve, the top was, well, strips of cloth lashed together with leather cord.  
As the guest of honor, you are to take part in a ceremonial dance. And apparently that means dressing like you’re a dancer in Eulmore. You wince.

“I’m sorry, Warrior of Darkness, but this is a must of the ceremony!” Runar replies with vigor.

“I… Well…. How can….. Shit,” you stutter out, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

Of all the things they could’ve had you do, they chose to make you dance in the ceremony. Not to mention the ceremony wasn’t even taught to you and it was tonight. You sigh again, snatching the garments from Runar’s hands. “Just, ugh, go out there would you? Tell them I’ll dance if I must.”

Runar gives you a toothy grin , canines gleaming in the lamplight, before hurrying to exit the room. The doors close with a soft thud, and you drop dejectedly into the nearest chair. You toss the garments on the table beside you, leaning down to undo the clasps on your boots. One by one they come undone, and you slip the leather off your feet, setting them beside you. You stand, shimmying off your pants, your tunic soon following, stripping down to your smallclothes.

You run your hands along the fabric, and have to admit, it has a good feel. One leg at a time, you step into the long skirt, hoisting it above your navel and tying it into place. You eye the top with a sidelong look. You pick it up and study the flimsy fabric. Forget lewd, how do you even put it on? You toss an area over your head, and for a few long minutes you struggle to untangle and tie every leather cord, and keep every slip of cloth in place. As the last strap finally snaps into place, you feel a heavy presence at your back. You do not need to look to know who spies on you, and you do not need to see, to feel he will not leave the shadows just yet. Nor should he, because he lied. He said he would come to you, but he had not, and until this moment, hasn’t.

“Bastard,” you growl, speed walking to the door. You swoop down to snatch up your shoes as you leave. Exiting into the dark night, you hop awkwardly as you put on your boots, startling Runar out of his thoughts. He grins at you, and for a brief moment, you feel the dark presence at your back bristle. Serves the Ascian right. Runar leads you to the fire, where the rest of your party waits. It towers high into the sky, a raging cacophony of flames against the silent of the night. Drums steadily beat in the background, and soft, melodious voices singing in a language you have never heard before. The presence follows at a distance, veiling itself in a thick blanket of shadow.

Y’shtola gives you a once over, you always found it odd how she saw you, being blind, before grinning wolfishly. “Nervous are we? Don’t worry, the ceremony will be controlled.”

You cock your head in question.

“The priests of the Night’s Blessed shall sing a song of enchantment, allowing dark aether to enter your body and lead you in dance.”

Ah, so that was why they insisted. “So this, aether, it will take over my body?”

Runar shakes his head. “No,” his says, “it will simply lead you into the motions. You will have complete control, you will just feel urged in the right direction.”

The drum beats grow louder. Minfilia starts to bob up and down to the beat, practically dancing beside Thancred. The man glances at her fondly, patting her on the head with a, “Come Minfilia, let’s find a good spot to watch the show.” They disappear into the crowd. Urianger lingers by Y’shtola as Runar leads you to your place by the fire. The dancers, and you, line up before him, a sprinkle of water misting over your skin as he recites ancient words. The clearing suddenly grows silent, and you move to stand in position near the fire.

Runar then begins to chant, deep and rumbling, voicing guttural words you had never heard before. But you immediately feel their power. The drum beats, loud in the silence, once, twice, and then the priests begin to sing. It is a haunting melody, and you feel your limbs being pulled into action. Dark tendrils rise from the ground, whisking through shadow and darkness, pulling you along. They wrap around your limbs, and you twist with them, body rolling like the waves of the ocean. Your feet move, sweeping and stamping, twirling as the aether pulls at you; arms stretching above your thrown back head, fingers splayed to the heavens. You feel the drum in your body, loud and reverberating to the beat of your heart.

Sweat glistens on your skin, your body glowing red in the firelight. _Boom, boom, boom_ , goes the rhythm of your pulse, body singing to the sky as you writhe in a snakelike dance. Your hips sway to the voices, and the dark aether caresses your skin. As you move you feel intense focus on your back, and you glance at said sensation, finding golden eyes shining in the shadows. They are wide, enraptured, and filled with a naked longing. You frown at them, and they blink rapidly.

Suddenly, the chant grows louder, and your feet move in time, abs clenching as you jump and twist, arms slinking through the air. The drum booms and booms, a crashing crescendo in your mind, until you throw yourself to the ground, kicking up dirt as you spin on your knees, arm outstretched, reaching to the heavens. And then all is quiet.

Your breath comes fast, and you can still feel the drum pounding in your ears as you stand, the dark aether a cloud around you, swirling and writhing. Runar speaks.

“Bless us, O Sunless Sea! Take this darkness we have produced in your image!”

The aether flies from your body, swirling in the flames as it rises and rises, a dark tornado of flames and energy. It shoots into the heavens, black and raw. For a moment, you don’t realize the Nights Blessed are cheering, feeling more drained than ever, but strangely invigorated. Runar comes, and helps you to a nearby bench, ladling water into a cup. You drink deeply. “Wha- What was that!?” you exclaim, finally catching your breath.

“That was the ceremony, it is invigorating, is it not?” Runar says.

“It was definitely something else.”

You feel, different, almost calmer somehow. It’s like your soul, your very aether, has fallen into a deep slumber; light roiling beneath your skin still and silent. You stand, stumbling as your legs give out beneath you. Runar is there, holding you up, steadying you with an arm around your waist.

“You must rest,” he says to you. “Performing the ceremony for the first time will take a lot out of you.”

Slinging one arm around his neck, he holds you up. Carefully, the two of you make your way back to your chambers. Runar shoulders the wooden doors open, helping you over to your bed where you drop like a sack of popatoes. Your limbs feel like jelly, but you aren’t particularly fatigued. Runar pats you on your shoulder, padding out of the room. You sigh, flopping back onto the mattress. And then you feel him, hear him, as his feet tap on the stone ground.

You sit up, looking at the man who is intruding into your room; his slouch, his dark ringed eyes, colored a deep, thick gold. With gray streaked hair framing his sharp jaw and slender neck, Emet-Selch is an all too familiar creature. You move to stand, to confront him, to speak, to look at him, go to him; to do any and all of these things. But your legs simply cannot hold your weight, and you collapse to the floor with a small gasp. You brace for the impact, but it does not come, hands gently lowering you to the stone.

“Did he not tell you to rest Hero?” he questions softly. Your knees touch the floor, and you brace yourself on the ground with your hand. “You’ll hurt yourself if you aren’t careful. Who would rescue the day if you broke your neck from falling, hmm?”

His hands move up your back to rest on your shoulders. You jerk away, pulling yourself out of his grasp. “Just leave me be, I won’t suffer your presence tonight.”

Anger flares in his eyes for a brief moment. “So you’ll let strangers mingle with your aether, but my mere presence is a burden? Don’t be a child.”  
Dark tendrils flare to life behind him, a deep, deep red. “Obviously, I was a fool to worry about your health when you collapsed. I’ll be certain not to repeat the mistake.”

You snort derisively. “As if you cared in the first place, leaving me such as you did.”

“Like what, safe in your room and far away from me? I could have left you there to die,” he retorts.

“Oh thank you, good sir, for not leaving me yalms under the ground to wither away,” you bow mockingly at the waist,” I am ever so grateful.”

“Stop being difficult.”

“Stop being an ass,” you say, “and get out. Leave me be.”

“No,” he says. “I will not.” Fire blazes in his eyes. For a moment he stares at you, mouth open as if he wishes to speak. He snaps it shut, and then opens it again. After a beat, he whispers, “Would that I could.”

Curiosity sweeps over the anger in your chest, head cocking to the side in a silent question.

He takes a deep breath, as if contemplating whether or not to speak his next words. You raise an eyebrow. He sighs in defeat.

“With every breath you take, you draw me back in, desperate as I am to escape. I cannot help but come to you,” his heated gold irises meet yours, “You’re like a typhoon, drawing in all and any cloud, big or small.”

His hand grabs a lock of your hair, pulling it gently between white gloved forefingers. “Is that the end of it all? Will you gobble me up, Warrior? Will you, a tiny insignificant cloud, destroy and take over my hurricane of existence? Or will our winds join, and bring about a cleansing of the land?”

He shakes his head, dropping his hand to cup your chin, tilting your lips to hover in front of his. “Now, and until our gales collide, I will come to you, whether I like it or not.” His tone is sharp, commanding, and it sends a shameless shiver down your spine.

His aether flares, coming up to touch your skin in soft caresses. “No one warrior, no one but me, will lay claim to your winds.”

His hands push you to the ground, and you let him, tendrils of aether solidifying against your flesh. “Let me show you what aether can really do warrior. Let me take part in your stormy soul.”

You watch him, silent as he leans above you, deep colored tendrils whispering between you. Slowly, you nod, and the barest hint of a smile graces his lips. He snaps, and your clothes are gone, the robes neatly folding themselves on the nearby bed. The night air rushes against your bared body and you shiver. Emet removes his outer robe, helping you to move on top of it, its soft surface shielding your skin from the cold of the stone floor. He settles between your legs, hands resting on your thighs. The tendrils curl, slithering down his neck and over his arms, coming to wrap themselves tightly around your legs.

He leans down, locking his lips over yours, his essence surrounding you in a cocoon of red and black. His tongue traces along yours, fumbling, as if rushed; breath rising in his chest in heady gasps. You stifle a smile, amused that he was already desperately out of breath. You reach up, fingers running through the dark cloud of solidified aether, and he jolts as if stung. Goosebumps paint his skin as you weave your hands across his back. He clutches you tighter, red tendrils lashing your bodies together. Your senses are engulfed by him, the smell of his aether, dark and cold. Slowly, the tendrils caresses you, eliciting a tiny gasp from your lips, breaking away from Emet’s mouth.

Solid and light, they move; feathery touches against your heated arousal. Shadows slither up your torso, wrapping around your throat, and pinning you arms high above your head as you grind against the tendril trying to seep into your core. Emet sits back, hands resting on your abdomen. He just watches, enraptured with your movements, eyes wide, pupils large. His fingers skitter across your flesh, warm over the frosty paths left by his essence. Your throat bobs against the restricting darkness around your neck. The tendrils at your core slips inside, filling you, deep and full. You cry out as it thrusts heavily, slippery and slick inside you.

“Emet!”

His name slips out of your mouth in a heady whine, back arching as the aether pumps into your body, slow and hard. Emet shudders at your call, the darkness around him growing denser by the second, and you can feel his need. To touch you, to hold you, to never again let you go. His head falls against yours, and his voice echoes around you. His eyes close, brow furrowed as if his is in pain.

“Mine, mine, mine, all mine.” You don’t notice his lips aren’t speaking the words.

Fire courses through your body as his fingers slip in beside the writhing tendril within you, his silent begging sending lightning down your spine. His hips rut against your leg, shirt soaked through with sweat. “Yours,” you whisper hotly, struggling out of the tendrils hold, hands burying themselves in his hair once freed.

His eyes snap open at your words, raw and unfocused, not completely there. The dam that holds him back is cracking. You can feel it.

“Only yours, always yours,” you think, your mouth not relaying the words. But you know he can hear.

The world is consumed by darkness. By him. All encompassing, heavy, thick; the weight of his aether presses prickling sparks into your skin.

His presence disappears.

Your body floats away. You hang, suspended in a sea of darkness; soul drifting along the waves of the inky black, like a beacon in the night. A light pulses in the gloom, alarming you out of your stupor. Your body glows blindingly, a terrible and beautiful white. Suddenly, you are no longer alone, another body encompassed by a dark cloud of purple and red emerging from the shadows. An unknown man stands before you, face covered by a red half-mask, white whorls etched onto its surface. Immediately you know who it is; _feel_ who it is. You reach, moving the mask onto his head, away from his face. Emet startles, staring at you, seemingly just noticing your presence.

“How are you…” he trails off, his face painted in shock. You touch his skin. Suddenly, his need thunders through you, everything he wants to give you lurks behind him, a small strand all that is holding him back.

You caress his face, and tears leak onto your glowing flesh. You cannot tell if they are his or yours, raining down in a salty storm around you. “Give me everything,” you whisper to him in the dark.

You feel his resolve groan, like old rotted wood, your words reverberating in his mind. A piece of the dam breaks. But only slightly. Emet shakes his head, and gives you a sad look, smiling . “Not yet, dear warrior” He gives you a gentle shove.

And then you are back, your orgasm ripping through you, Emet pressing his lips to yours. You shake violently, your mind reeling as you come down from your euphoria. The black aether slowly dissipates, slithering across your skin in soft promises, sinking into the body of the man above you. Your limbs ache as they leave you, a heavy tiredness settling over your form. Emet caresses your neck, face nuzzled into your hair as his breathing slows down, body draping over your own. With a snap, the sheets of the bed come floating off the mattress, resting over your two frames. Your thoughts race a mile a minute, the memory of what just happened flashing frantically across your vision.

“What-”

Emet shushes you, moving his head to rest on your chest. “Tomorrow,” he says, littering the flesh with chaste kisses. His body is limp across yours. “Tomorrow.” And then he is asleep. Your hand comes to rest on his head, stroking his locks in time with his steady breaths. Whatever that was, it knocked the Ascian out. You can feel your own eyes shutting against your will, mind slowly becoming enveloped in a foggy haze as your thoughts slow down. “Tomorrow then.” You mumble to the now silent room. Before sleep takes you, you dimly realize your mouth tastes of salt, and your face is wet with tears. Tears that are not your own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohohoho. I’ve read a few mind sex fics and like I had to do it?But with tentacles too? Idk. We Vulcan up in this bitch.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes hello.
> 
> On a serious note, I understand Emet isn’t a soft man or not an antagonist. However like he said, “If your heart can break, so can mine.”
> 
> I just have a feeling that under all the sass and anger and bitterness, is a deep loneliness that none of us could ever understand.
> 
> That is all class. *sobs*


End file.
